SG: Aurora #44 - Simple Wishes (Part Five of Five)

[Frobozz]

[[CONTINUED FROM PART FOUR! DO NOT COMBINE COUPONS!]]

    "She'll live," said Honeybear to Doug, as he took Daphne's pulse
again. "If you can call this living, that is."
    "Thank God," replied Doug with a sigh, looking down at Daphne. "She
jus'... started thrashin'..."
    "I'm not sure what that was," replied Honeybear, "Though my best
guess is either stresses related to power use or a -really- bad burrito.
Her heart stopped too, but the good news is, I'm saving a -lot- of money
on my car insurance by switching to Gecko."
    "Good fer you, doc. So... what can we do for her?"
    "We need to isolate her for right now. No power use at all, so no one
can make an absent wish and drive my bill for this house-call higher."
    "Mebbe a prison cell?"
    "Sounds good. I've always wondered how the other half lived."
    "I'll help you wi--"
    "Excuse me, Doug?" began a trooper who tapped the boozy brawler on
the shoulder. "Peterson's looking for you."
    "I'll draft some help," said Honeybear, waving his hands for Doug to
go. "I'm very persuasive. Who else has a hundred percent success rate in
getting people to drop their pants? You! And you! I need you to help me
get this woman lifted, and I need your lips buttoned! This isn't the
Magic Kingdom, so no wishes!"
    Doug let the trooper lead him back to where the others waited. As he
approached the trio he dropped his eyes, not prepared to look at them
right yet.
    "Well I was going to ask if you knew anything about this," said
Peterson, clapping Doug on the shoulder. "But from that kicked-puppy
look, I'm guessing you do, big guy. Good to see you again. Really. It's
been way too long."
    "Thanks..." said Doug, daring to look up at Peterson. "Damn it... I
screwed't'all up..."
    Peterson lifted a finger. "Hold it, Doug. Explanations first.
Recriminations second. Okay?"
    "Okay. 'cept... what's a recrimination?"
    "We'll tell you after. For now, what exactly did you wish?"
    "Um... I been tryin' to remember 'zzactly. I didn't mean to, but..."
    "It's okay, Doug. It's okay. Just tell us please?"
    "I wished... for everyone t'be okay. An' I wished that my friends
could be here now.."
    Peterson nodded to that. "Figured it was something like that. You've
got a big heart, big guy," he said, looking around at the crowds
assembled.
    "That... wasn't the last one..."
    "What else did you wish, Doug?"
    "I... wished... that I'd never seen a beer in my life, Al..."
    "Oh... God in Heaven," sighed Peterson. "How's Daphne now?"
    "Bad, Al... her heart stopped... th'doc got it started 'gain...
but..."
    Peterson let out a breath. "Good. Well mostly good, but... yeah. I
guess some things even wishes can't fix. You and beer are one. The wish
bounced, nailed her..."
    "I'm sorry," replied Doug, his face falling.
    "Right. Okay, Doug, you did screw up. We've left some of our troops
behind, and I hope to Hell(tm) they have the sense to lay down their
guns and surrender. That was bad, Doug. But."
    "Y-yeah?"
    "First, I can't blame you for the mistake. I used to screw up making
wishes in her presence enough to earn a special place in her angry-face
club. We throw around wishes all the time and we're not used to them
coming true. Anyone would have made the same mistake you did, except
maybe for some sort of martial-arts mime..."
    "Tried that once. Din' like it."
    "Right Doug, let's just leave the book of your life closed for right
now, okay? My skin's crawly enough as it is. Anyway, item two. While you
-did- screw up, you screwed up in one of the best possible ways I can
think of. Look at us. We're all here. We're all assembled. Some of us
aren't cursing our every breath to the fires of hades because it hurts
to even try to breathe. We're together again. Not all of us, but enough
of us. And we're halfway to the top. We can plan, share intel and then
start climbing again--"
    "No," chorused both DeVrai and Clark.
    "Hunh?"
    "The stairs are safe," said Clark, folding his arms.
    "The elevators, not so much," returned DeVrai. "But the stairs are
safe."
    "At least as safe as anything else in this Elvis-forsaken place,"
continued Clark. "The climbing shafts thing? Done with that."
    "Completely," agreed DeVrai.
    "Yeah, but," began Peterson.
    "Stairs," insisted Clark.
    "Down with shafts," agreed DeVrai. "Up with stairs."
    "Fine," sighed Peterson. "So maybe it -won't- take us so long to make
the last of the trek."
    "Especially now that the enemy has -no- idea where we are, I bet,"
said Clark. "And oh yes, point of order? We're taking the stairs."
    "I GET it!" exclaimed Peterson. "Damn it, am I ever going to hear the
end of that one?"
    "Do you plan on living in a vacuum? No? Then probably not."
    "Anyway," said Peterson. "If we're done abusing me for the moment,
we've got some things to take care of. We need to get ourselves
organized. Figure out if everyone can travel. And then we need to divide
ourselves up properly this time."
    "Yes," said DeVrai with a nod. "Full chain of command. My squad's
roughed one together, but it wouldn't hurt to formalize it and maybe
apply it across the board."
    "Damn good starting place," said Peterson, grinning. "My thought is
that it's we three at the top, with one of us taking on a self-conferred
brevet promotion so that he's the final authority--"
    "You," chorused Clark and DeVrai, before Peterson could suggest
anyone else. Peterson sighed, rolling his eyes.
    "You realise that I'm still in pain?"
    "Perfect," said Clark. "That means you won't be as eager to rush into
the battle and get yourself killed, chopping the head off the CoC."
    "Fine," replied Peterson, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm at
top. Command devolves down to Clark and then DeVrai. After that, each
squad will go autonomous and track a chain of command down its own
ranks... it'd get way too confusing to try to make this one great big
army, but I think we can handle three again."
    "Agreed," replied DeVrai, who paused and suddenly let out a rare
laugh. "Oh yes. I have some good news."
    "This doesn't involve car insurance, does it?"
    "Not even a little bit. I have some very juicy intel."
    "Ooh, spill! Spill!"
    DeVrai did. And the other two temporary heads of Aurora slowly smiled
at the information that he had to relate.

***

    It's hard to get onto Doug's bad side. Though he's quick to anger,
he's also just as quick to forgive and forget (and forget, and forget
and forget). He'll often give you as many chances as you need. But sadly
for Vedding, one of the most unforgivable sins in Doug's canon is
betraying a friend. The ex-trooper didn't notice when Father O'Rourke,
who had been poking through Colleen's lab, vanished. Vedding, on the
other hand, stayed exactly where he was.
    Perhaps that was a good thing, though, as the ex-trooper had climbed
into a device for which he'd been searching high and low and was midway
through using it. Being pulled out in the middle might have been a very
Bad Thing indeed...

***

    Day 10
    Level 444

    Two thirds of Aurora's remaining strength slipped out of various
stairwell exits. DeVrai and Clark each lead a half of these forces,
emerging onto the level which the three commanders had decided was the
best place to make a stand.
    "Think we gave Peterson enough of a head start--what the HELL(tm) is
all this?" exclaimed Clark as he saw the level for the first time in
years.
    "Don't you remember?" DeVrai asked, gesturing around at the too-open
level. "I consulted on some of this work. Four-four-four through
four-four-eight got demoed into one great big proving grounds a whole
mess of years back, when we bought our armour from those Yanks."
    "Oh, damn, this -is- it, isn't it?" Clark said, glancing around at
the tangle of girders, crazed paths and twisting mounds of debris. "No
wonder you and Peterson were so keen on our hunkering down here. Once we
dig in, it's going to be -perfect-." He frowned, then toed a  rotten
grey mass which seemed to cover the entire level. "But what the heck is
this?"
    "Popcorn," replied DeVrai. "The problem with this place is no one
ever bothers to clean up after themselves."
    "Oh... ugh," replied Clark, gagging at the thought. "No one takes
their helmet off. That's not just an order, that's my good deed for the
day."
    "Good idea," replied DeVrai. "Let's get set up. We're on a timer
now."
    Clark nodded. "Yes we are. Good luck."
    "Likewise."
    The two leaders shook hands and headed back to instruct their troops.
Fortifications were dug in, traps were set, and many people swore off
popcorn forever. At the six hour mark, Clark and DeVrai called a halt.
They were as done as they were going to be if they were going to stick
to the timing they'd agreed upon.
    "Ready to hit it?" DeVrai asked, as he moved close to Clark's
position.
    "No," replied Clark. "But it's time anyway. Let's do this."
    DeVrai nodded and opened his commo channel, beginning a fast status
update to Clark. He was allowed to get three minutes into the
transmission before Clark, through a repeater Colleened together four
levels below, frantically ordered DeVrai to maintain radio silence.
DeVrai switched off.
    "Think they bought it?"
    "Yeah," replied Clark. "I think they did. They're probably just
waiting for us to make a mistake like that. It sounds like they don't
deal well with being out of touch with their superiors. At all. They
probably don't expect anyone else to deal well with that either."
    "Let's just hope they're reacting by gut and not rationally," said
DeVrai, rising. "Back to my position."
    "Good idea. Give 'em Hell(tm)."
    "You too."
    "Do my best," replied Clark, hunkering down behind the piece of
real-estate he'd chosen for cover. He didn't look forward to another
fight, but this one felt different than the rest. This was the
bet-the-farm battle as far as Clark was concerned. His men and women
knew that too, and he hoped that the knowledge would get them to fight
all the harder.
    After all, they -had- to buy enough time for Al and his division. Or
else this turned into one big suicide mission. And no matter what the
songwriters said, suicide was far from painless.

***

     Day 10
     Level 564

    "Time?" asked Chambers, keeping her place beside the stairwell door.
    "Almost," replied Peterson, checking his chronometer. "Give the
troops a chance to rest. That was worse than one of Doug's forced-march
training routines."
    "We'll sleep after," replied Chambers. "Besides, the suits did most
of the work."
    "Doesn't change the fact that I'm--I mean we're all dog tired. And
some've us are wounded."
    "Whine, whine, whine. Time?"
    Peterson sighed. "Yeah. Time. Get into position."
    Chambers nodded and slipped out the door, alone. Peterson's heart
jumped up into his throat at the sight, but he forced it back down. She
volunteered for this mission. So had he. He wouldn't want anyone else
backing his play like this. But that didn't mean he had to like it.
    "Go!" Peterson called down to the last third of Aurora's forces, who
were waiting in position by stairwells a level below. A moment later the
sound of dozens of armoured bodies pouring onto the level reached
Peterson, and he knew that they'd passed the point of no return.
    "Go," he whispered to himself after counting to sixty, then slipped
through onto the level.

***

    Gladiator could rarely be considered a happy person; eternal
damnation tended to dampen one's sense of joie de vivre. But Gladiator
was even more unhappy than usual, for he had not yet sensed prey to
challenge and destroy.
    All that changed though, when his infernal senses noted a stream of
co-belligerent troops making their way towards a level some ways below
his. His mind performed a fast calculation and arrived at the conclusion
that they were headed for the four-hundred and forty-fourth level of
this damned structure.
    Smashing through the floor, Gladiator began to move towards that
level himself. It was long past time to challenge himself. It was long
past time to hunt.
    Gladiator permitted himself a smile. Soon, very soon, the walls would
be painted a most agreeable shade of red.

***

    TO BE CONCLUDED IN AURORA #45

***

This issue is mine, mine, mine and you can't have it. Nyah and copyright
belongs to Frobozz/Chris Angelini, 2005. Mess with my legal rights and
I'll send over Gggthstx to discuss 'fair use' with you. Email to
frobozz at eyrie.org. Homepage at http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz. I think
the next version of Macintosh OSX should be 'Kzin'.

---
-Chris
frobozz at eyrie.org
http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz

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